


Corporate Cynosure

by Hattingmad



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Corporate, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Multi, Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:28:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 18,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26654428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hattingmad/pseuds/Hattingmad
Summary: Modern-day corporate AU. WOl as a broke nonprofit worker, Ascians as Silicon Valley CEO types at a multinational megacorp. Poaching attempted.
Comments: 72
Kudos: 98





	1. Chapter 1

"We've put it to a vote, and the board has unanimously decided to keep you."  
  
"To offer you the position," Elidibus the HR representative interjects.

Okay, no. Hold up.

This is crazy.

Her job with the Scions (of the Seventh Dawn Adventist Church) is _fine._

Like, sure, it doesn't pay all that well, and the hours are kind of bonkers, and she's not sure how religious she actually is, anyway, and their morality clause is--honestly, does anyone actually follow those?--but, like, it's _fine_.

And yeah, they sign off a lot of emails with stuff like 'blessed be' and 'under Her ever-watchful gaze', and they talk a _lot (like, a lot a lot)_ about having religious experiences where Hydaelyn speaks to them, and, like, she hopes it's metaphor but who really knows? But anyway.

Getting off track.

* * *

Okay, so. She's doing this thing, right? Blah blah "it'll look good on your resume" and blah blah "Y'shtola can't feed all those starving orphans by herself" and blah blah charity auction black-tie something something no one knows how to bartend or wait tables (which is bullshit, frankly, because Thancred looks like he can pour a mean drink), but fine, whatever. She's good. She's nice. She's helpful. She's 'warrioroflight' on her gmail, for gods' sake. So she's here, taking little canapes around to all these fancy people at their 500-gil-a-head places at these tables and watching as stupid bullshit like spa packages auctions off for astronomical amounts. Staggering, really.

The announcer is going, "and for our next item, a marble statue of the goddess Hydaelyn," and as she passes tiny food around, she hears one of the tux-clad guys at this table snicker to the one next to him, 

"oh, man, it's _hideous!_ We...we _have_ to get it."

"What in the everloving _fuck_ do you think we are going to do with a _Hydaelyn_ statue? Besides, surely that's a misuse of company funds?"

"Nonono, trust me, it'll be _awesome._ We can...we can _hang_ stuff on it. She can...she can take our _coats_ ," the first guy hoots, and now the second man is caving with what looks like a really aggrieved expression on his face, and he holds up his paddle.

The bidding war is perplexingly fast and furious, after that, but the man with the paddle just keeps topping bids until finally, for some utterly exorbitant sum that makes her eyes water, the statue is his, the auctioneer banging a gavel and announcing, "sold, to Speaker Lahabrea from Zodia(r)k Enterprises."

Stars. She knows that company. Everyone knows them. They're huge, a megacorporation with fingers in _all_ the pies.

There's polite clapping, and the first guy is evidently struggling not to die of laughter. He takes a sip of some really expensive wine and starts, predictably, choking.

She doesn't really think about it, she just dives in, whacking him on the back and starting to perform the Heimlich because...well...it's just what you do, isn't it?

"It really is an awful statue," she murmurs in solidarity. "Definitely not worth dying over. Looks even worse up close."

The entire table cracks up at that, various degrees of mirth shown now that their colleague is in no danger of drowning on dry land.

"You," the one who choked says. "I like you. Can I keep her, Liddy?"

"I believe we are full up on interns for the present, Nabriales, as Lahabrea's department has _four_ at last count. Chalice, Penta-"

"Yeah, yeah, Cups, Knife, Sticks, and Coins, I know, I remember."

In morbid fascination, she cannot help but butt into their conversation, blurting out, 

"I can probably guess what 'cups' and 'coins' do, but what kind of intern positions are 'knife' and 'sticks'?"

"Stabbing and hitting, respectively," Nabriales says cheerfully, with a wink in her direction.

"I'm sorry?"

"Don't be!'

"No, I mean...there's a _stabbing_ department?" She's staring, she knows she is, but this cannot be real.

"Stabbing _intern,"_ Nabriales stresses, like this somehow makes it better. 

"Murder is wrong," she objects, because she feels like _someone_ has to.

"No, murder is _expensive,"_ he corrects her patiently. "Do you have any idea how much cleaners cost here in Amaurot?"

"Um--?" She squeaks.

"Joke, _joking,_ Nabrialeswehave _talked_ aboutthis, _"_ Elidibus hisses.

"And if I can't have an intern, then we'll just have to hire her." Nabriales shrugs.

"I--I already have a job, actually-" She begins, but another voice cuts her off, coming from a man in an impeccably-cut suit who looks like he has been...taking a nap?...with his head propped on his hand for some time, but who has now deigned to crack an eye open to assess her.

"Double-major," he drawls. "Something very liberal-arts, bleeding-heart. Sociology or women's studies, at a guess. Business administration as your double, because it was practical. Top of your class. Overachiever. Always putting yourself out for others. They're not paying you what you're worth."

Stunned, her mouth opens and closes as the man stretches and seems to fully open his eyes for the first time. He has an arresting golden gaze and dark hair with a streak of white near his temple, and the corner of his mouth is upturned in a smirk.

"Go on," he says. "Tell me I'm right."

Before she can say anything, Lahabrea, the one who'd bid on the statue, speaks.

"Now _this_ is interesting. She made Emet-Selch wake up." He steeples his fingers together and hums softly.

"And she saved my life," Nabriales points out, and is promptly ignored.

"Very well. All opposed?"

No heads or hands move.

"All in favor?"

Nodding from the dozen or so men and women sitting at his table and the next one over.

"Then that settles it."

And that's how she got the weirdest job offer of her life.

* * *

But, and here's the thing-- she doesn't need a job at a big evil corporation like Zodia(r)k Enterprises. She _doesn't_.

"It comes with a per diem, rent stipend, paid holidays, sick days, time-and-a-half OT, and tuition reimbursement assistance. Your starting salary would be-" and here he says a number that makes her jaw drop.

Okay, so maybe she doesn't _need_ a job here, but it sure is sounding awfully nice.

No. C'mon. She's doing good work with the Scions. She's helping people. Zodia(r)k is soulless corporate greed made manifest. She can't just-

"Um, what would you be hiring me _for,_ exactly?"

Elidibus--the HR representative, she presumes--quietly speaks.

"There _is_ that one position."

"The one that's been open for years?"

"Yes, that one. The, ah, sensitivity reader, the outside advisor, a...what are those things that hurt you when you err?"

"A domme?" Nabriales asks with a roguish grin.

"A _conscience,_ yes, _thank_ you, Majestic, for the timely demonstration as to why the position has yet to be filled," Lahabrea cuts him off, expression sour. 

"Anyway. Think about it. Come view the offices. See if you like it." Elidibus offers gently.

"Um. O-okay. I have to..." She trails off, looking down at her plate of canapes.

"Of course. Here. My card." Emet-Selch offers her a thick, glossy thing, silver embossed lettering on black card stock, seeming to suck in all the light. 

"Thanks."

She walks away doing double-time with her rounds, and it's a while before she has the chance to take the card out of her pocket, fingering it with something like wonder in the kitchens. 

_Emet-Selch._

_Director of Mergers and Acquisitions._

_Ascian Board_

_Zodia(r)k Enterprises_

_(xxx) xxx-xxxx_

_e.selch@zodiark.com_

She flips it over, expecting the company's logo, but there's some weird sigil there instead, something she doesn't recognize outlined in red. Huh.

She wonders what an Ascian Board is, anyway.

Maybe she'll go check it out on her day off. Just for fun. Not to accept or anything, she tells herself before sleep, feet aching from bustling around for hours on end.

Just... just to see.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wol visits the corporate HQ, overhears an argument, and has a caffeinated religious experience.

The headquarters of Zodia(r)k are huge, housed in a skyscraper of a building on the waterfront of the central business district of Amaurot, all metal and glass, swooping curves and spirals twisting up into infinity in a vaguely art-nouveau style. It is, in all honesty, pretty cool looking. And that's only the outside.

Warrior (as the Scions insist on calling her ever since discovering her email handle) can't afford to actually live in the city proper. She just works here, renting a tiny shoebox apartment in the bad part of the outskirts and commuting in every day.

Her personal situation in life doesn't stop her from admiring the metropolis, though. It's so damn _pristine,_ the architecture all cohesive, the parks and walkways and foliage all harmoniously coming together to blend into a whole somehow greater than the sum of its parts. The Scions remind her at every opportunity that appearances can be deceiving, that the people are just as broken and in need of Hydaelyn's grace here as everywhere else, and she smiles and nods along like she's supposed to.

* * *

So anyway, the building.

The entire tower, basically, belongs to and is being used by this one corporation, and she is reminded of how large Zodia(r)k really is. The top ten or so floors are reserved for C-level executives alone.

As she's taken on a tour (apparently they just do these for members of the public), she listens to the employee extolling the virtues of their cafeteria--five star chefs rotate in and out daily, with meal plans tailored to each employee's exact nutrition specifications; their company gym--equipped with every piece of cardio and weightlifting gear you could think of, and then some, as well as a competitive pool and a sauna; their animal enrichment center--evidently, in addition to being a very pet-friendly workspace, they have dedicated break rooms where the employees can just go and...cuddle kittens (who live there, apparently); and their nap rooms. Oh, gods, the nap rooms. They look like futuristic pod hotels, little cabins that can close off with curtains, kitted out with pillows, blankets, a little lamp and reading nook, with just enough room for their tallest employees to stretch out. Glorious.

She does, however, shudder at the open-office floor plan and the evangelism for hot-desking, two things she absolutely can't stand.

"We're in the process of replacing all traditional work spaces with either standing desks or exercise balls, as part of our new wellness program," the guide chirps, and she suppresses a shudder.

She slips away from the tour and approaches the secondary reception desk, the one by the key-card-only elevator.

"Oh, are you lost, miss? I'm afraid the tour's back there."

"Oh. No. Actually, I think someone might be expecting me?"

She holds out the card given to her by Emet-Selch, and the receptionist's eyes widen a little. She murmurs something into a headset and nods.

"I'll send you up."

"Thanks."

* * *

  
The private elevator goes all the way up to the top floor of the tower, and when the doors open, she steps out into what appears to be the middle of a heated argument.

"And now those _assholes_ over at _Shinra_ have a lion! A _lion!_ Do you know what those government shills told me when I asked for one?"

"That it was illegal?"

"Yes! Of all the asinine--so I said, well, Shinra's got one, shouldn't you take theirs away? And do you know what they said?"

"Grandfathered in?"

"Y-- quit doing that, you're stealing my thunder."

"Sorry."

"And another thing! Those _baboons_ have their own bloody private army! But _you_ all said that sort of thing was inappropriate, and _now_ look where we are! 'I can call it a private security firm', I said. 'Emet, no, that's guerilla warfare,' you said."

"We could always call in Lahabrea's new stabbing intern. I've heard good things?"

"You can't have him, I said, he's _mine_!"

"Well, don't come running to me when they send their little supersoldiers over here, that's all I"m saying. Honestly, it's like you've all forgotten how I built up the Allag, Ronka, _and_ Garlemald security firms from the ground up. The cheek of it, telling me 'no'! They have this little pissant with long hair, the boy looks like he'd fall over if you so much as _sneezed_ on him, and he can bench press a building! A _building,_ I tell you! Long hair, ha! As if that has any place on a _real_ soldier. Back in my day, when you went to war, you chopped it all off, no matter _how_ glorious your locks were. Oh, boo-hoo, the boy has mommy issues, pah! Everyone I know and love is DEAD!"

"Emet... Emet, we're all still here."

"I know what I said!"

"He's telling you he doesn't love you, Lahabrea."

"Well, I _never--"_

Warrior can't quite stifle a laugh, and it catches the attention of the man leaning casually on the wall, watching this chaos unfold with an air of deepest amusement.

"Ah, _there_ you are! We were wondering if you were going to show. Got cold feet?"

"Nabriales, right?"

"That's right! You remember me--she _remembers_ me, I'm _memorable_ , ha!--"

"Yeah, it's not that I wasn't interested in coming, the Scions just keep me pretty busy and this was my first day off in a while..."

"You work for the _Hydaelyn-botherers?_ Oh, you poor abused _lamb,_ this cannot stand! No, don't say another word, I'm not letting you leave until you've signed over your life to us instead," Nabriales vows, placing a hand on her back and shepherding her down the hallway. "Lahabrea, coffee break~ Come socialize with the new hire."

"I'm not--" she begins, but Lahabrea, pulling himself away from the argument(?) between his coworkers, peels off to join them with a longing and wistful sigh.

" _Coffee,"_ he says dreamily, murmuring, "I'd inject it directly into my veins if I could. Alas that this mortal frame, pathetic sack of flesh that it is, is incapable of taking in sustenance in such a fashion."

"Join the club," Warrior mutters on a laugh, and yes, okay, she actually prefers hot cocoa with properly-sized marshmallows in, but she's a nonprofit worker and she mainlines crappy coffee like the rest of them to get her through the day, so she understands where he's coming from.

Nabriales' hand is sliding lower down her back as they walk, and she can't tell if it's deliberate or not, when Lahabrea, having evidently found someone to whom he can evangelize, tugs her away, a manic gleam in his eyes.

"Yes, you see, you understand--let me show you _my creation._ The _Machine."_

"The what now?"

"Oh, no," Nabriales groans. "He was head of R&D before he got demoted, sweetheart, but he's never let it stop him from _tinkering..."_

There's no time to object to the pet name, because Lahabrea is tugging her into what she swears would be a supply closet in any other _normal_ office--(she's rapidly figuring out that this is under no circumstances a normal office)--and there is a monstrosity of a Rube-Goldberg machine taking up almost all available space inside. Gears twirl, steam puffs, pieces slot together in haphazard fashion, random bits of chrome and something she thinks might be a tea timer are spotted in one corner, and she can't really tell what it _does._ It looks like something that belongs more in a children's fantasy movie or a mad scientist's laboratory than a corporate headquarters.

She blinks.

"The Machine," Lahabrea breathes, reverent. "It begins."

And he picks up a bag of raw coffee beans from _somewhere_ \--was he storing them in his coat?--and feeds them into one end of the contraption. Heat wafts out as the beans disappear, and many alarming noises are heard inside the closet as water--she hopes it's water--rushes through convoluted looping tubes. Grinding. Bubbling. Dripping. 

A small tray with a ceramic cup pops out of some hidden compartment, and a slow drip of dark, heavenly-smelling liquid is extruded from... _somewhere_ into the cup.

It seems to be a very violent process. Lahabrea happily takes the gently steaming cup and mainlines it with no hesitation.

"Mm, cold brew for you, today, I think," he mutters, and another set of beans is fed into the gaping maw of The Machine.

A different location offers her a plastic to-go cup with straw and lid, already sealed, and--are those ice cubes of _more coffee_ floating around in there? Wow.  
"Try it," he invites her, and really, she doesn't think she actually has a choice. "Try and see."

Nabriales is hanging around the door frame, painfully amused.

"He's very precious about that thing. We never get to use it. This is quite the privilege. Go on, you'll hurt his feelings."

"She understands," Lahabrea breathes, and there's nothing for it but to hope it isn't poisoned.

Warrior sips.

She swallows.

She _moans_.

"I'd prefer you be making those sounds around my--" Nabriales is saying in the distance, but she can't bring herself to care. There is only the spiritual experience she is having.

Is she tearing up?

She might be crying a little.

She's so moved.

Lahabrea nods at her sagely.

"The Machine," he says again, and it is now self-explanatory.

"You fucking genius," she says, and hugs him in a fit of caffeinated camaraderie.

And that, upon reflection, is when it all starts to _really_ go to shit.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wol visits the CEO's office. Things get out of hand.

The employee handbook at Zodia(r)k is...large, to say the least.

Among all the NDAs, litigation clauses, IT best practices and short-term disability legalese, there are some _questionable_ segments.

One such segment mentions the company accepts no liability for loss of ''life and limb/sanity' that occurs during the monthly coffee shot contest.

Another requests employees not speak of the Clean Energy Generation Sub-Basement. A further FAQ continues as follows:

"Caffeine Power Source FAQ (employees-only)"

Q. When is it time to swap out power sources for our multiple-award-winning clean-energy generator in sub-basement XIII?

A. When energy levels begin to drop, the company begins preparations to remove the current occupant and install the next subject.

Q. When energy levels drop, how can I tell the difference between occupant returning to baseline caffeine levels versus impending loss of life?

A. Please refer to the NDA in Appendix C which you signed upon hire, and the FAQs for our monthly coffee shot contest re: the Coffee Cubus. Please direct all further questions to HR.

Another clause is a pre-signed liability waiver and agreement to arbitration along with a 'misconduct allowance, renewable weekly and executable by Nabriales'. An attached diagram demonstrates locations on employees where 'misconduct' may and may not take place. The story goes that one year, Nabriales slipped a diagram that was simply a circle of the entire body with 'yes' labeled on it into the materials; fortunately, it was caught during the editing process and promptly scrapped. In retaliation for this slight, photocopiers throughout the office could be seen printing nothing but Nabriales' ass for _days._

But perhaps the strangest of these is the 'no touching Lahabrea' clause. A clause Warrior had no way of knowing about, not being privy to the company handbook, of course. A clause she is in violation of, nevertheless.

Lahabrea goes stiff in her arms, making a sound uncannily like an 'error' notification on a laptop, and Nabriales comments, 

_"_ Oh no, you broke him."

"Is this...the thing they call...'embrace'?" Lahabrea says, seemingly to himself, and extends a hand to touch her face. "How very strange."

"After spending so long down in R&D, he can get like this sometimes with human contact, so we try to avoid it whenever possible. He can't function like-- You know what, let's just go. C'mon, Speaker, let her go." 

Nabriales gently pries Lahabrea's wandering fingers from her cheeks where he has been poking and prodding her and making 'hmm' noises, and tugs her away.

* * *

"Could I ask you something?" 

"Hm?"

"I don't really understand the structure of this organization. What's the 'Ascian Board'? Who's the CEO? What exactly does Zodia(r)k _do?"_

"Well, the Ascian board is the thirteen of us; directors of the various departments, I mean. As for what we do...I mean, _you_ , hopefully, if I get my way--"

She hits him in the solar plexus.

"Ow, okay, too soon, got it. Everything. That's the answer. We do _everything._ And can I just say the CEO is always on vacation and never in the office and leave it at that? It's complicated and I don't like talking about it in range of Emet-Selch."

It's clear she doesn't get it, and Nabriales just sighs and points to a corner office. "CEO's over there. Go if you want, but don't say I didn't warn you."

Like that's ever stopped her.

Warrior heads down the hall. The lights are off in the corner office designated "CEO", but they turn on automatically when she steps through the doorway, and she takes it all in.

It's beautiful. Half-office, half cozy sitting room. 

Violet roses with copper-colored stems sit in a blown-glass vase that is, itself, a work of art. A cup of hot cocoa with giant marshmallows is sitting on the cherry-wood desk, which has been polished to a glossy high sheen. A few stacks of paperwork are placed here and there, but there's a thin film of dust (only on the paperwork, nothing else) that indicates it hasn't been touched in a long, long time, if ever. The keyboard is one of those split-designs that are supposedly better on your hands and wrists, and there are three full monitors on the desk. A very ergonomic and expensive looking office chair is pushed into the desk, but there is an enormous bean bag cushion-couch-thing in the corner that looks far cozier, fashioned in the style of an exceedingly fat calico cat, with a fuzzy blanket carefully tucked to one side. 

An honest-to-god book nook is built into one of the walls, with a variety of titles, both business related and not, lining the shelves. And the window takes up most of a wall, a view of the city and the water down below. Fortunately, it isn't a full floor-to-ceiling window, only hip-to-ceiling, the lower half of the wall paneled wood instead. She feels a little queasy with windows that go all the way down; she always wonders if today will be the day she falls through. 

There's a stuffed something or other on the beanbag...is that a _boba tea? Cute._ And there's art on the walls, poured golden rivers of resin on a blue pearlescent backdrop, something sad and gorgeous about it that makes her heart _ache._

The room doesn't add up. It's obviously very well cared for, each item lovingly placed, all the equipment top-of-the-line, and it's clearly meant to look like the occupant has just stepped out for a moment, and could be back at any time.

But the dust on the papers, the lack of footprints or track marks from the rolling chair or other signs of being lived-in tell a different story.

This room has never been used for its intended purpose. It feels more like a shrine to the departed than a functional office.

Is the CEO dead? Why wouldn't they just make an announcement and appoint someone else? No, that doesn't make sense either. Frowning, she traces a finger along the edge of the desk. This office-that-isn't is a mystery, a puzzle. She likes solving puzzles, but something tells her she isn't going to enjoy solving this one.

An intern with a name tag labeled 'Cups' walks in, carrying a gently steaming fresh mug of cocoa, and almost drops it on his foot to see her there.

"Holy _shit,_ you're real! This is going to change everything--wait till I tell the office betting pool! Half of us thought you were a _myth_! I thought this was stupid busywork, I--"

Cups seems to realize he's been speaking out loud and pales, thrusting the mug of cocoa toward her and awkwardly cringing into a Japanese-style bow.

"I mean! Miss CEO Azem, ma'am! Here's your cocoa, ma'am! No one has touched your office since you left, ma'am! Only Emet-Selch spends any time in here, and only to replace the flowers and..."  
"Wait, what? Hang on, I'm not the..."

But Cups is gone, dashing out of the office and down the hall, yelling, "Sticks, Knife, you won't believe it, _Azem_ is here!"

A veritable stampede of employees is now gawking outside the door, crowding, pushing and shoving, and all Warrior wants to do is _hide,_ until a voice snaps out,

"what imposter _dares_ profane the sanctity of the CEO office with--"

Making his way to the front of the crowd, Emet-Selch himself stops dead in his tracks, seeming to take the whole room (and her) in at a glance.

And then he says,

"Oh. It's _you,"_ with such feeling that all she can think to say back is,

"Yeah. Hi."

She gives a dumb little wave before her manners kick back in and she starts stammering to apologize.

"That's not bad, is it? That it's me? Oh, shit, I'm so sorry about--"

He cuts her off.

"No need to apologize. You're here now. That's what matters."

Awfully generous for someone who seemed pretty furious at the idea of anyone coming in here, she thinks, but she isn't going to look a gift chocobo in the beak, so...

"Yeah, I made it. This place is... it's really something incredible." 

In both senses of the word.

For lack of anything better to do, she had accepted the cocoa from Cups, and brings it to her lips.

"Ohhh, this is almost drinking chocolate. It's...holy wow, it's really good. Is everything you guys put in your mouths this good?"

Somewhere, with a sixth-sense she does not recall having developed, she just _knows_ Nabriales is making a very dirty joke at her expense.

Emet-Selch chuckles behind his hand, and then, with a very casual motion, hip-checks the door shut in everyone's faces. The cacophony of voices is silenced, and they are alone behind the heavy door.

"What are your impressions?" He asks, like he actually cares to know.

She doesn't really know where to begin. Does she lead with 'I'm pretty sure one of your coworkers is making coffee bombs in a storage closet'? With 'Nabriales is a walking sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen'? With 'seriously, a _stabbing_ intern?' With the fact that this place is simultaneously both the best _and_ worst workplace she could ever dream of? That, rather than being overwhelmed with all the eccentrics and strange happenings, she somehow feels at home in the chaos? That this office, particularly, is a fantasy come to life?

The Director of Mergers and Acquisitions merely smiles at her like he's somehow privy to her thoughts, and nods.

"You like it. I'm glad. Have we updated your paperwork with HR yet?"

"I'm not sure I ever finished-"

"There've been a few _changes_ re: the coffee cubus liability issue," he continues, not giving her a chance to protest. "Still, better late than never."

"I see," she says, though she really, really doesn't. Isn't sure what half those words _mean,_ even.

It is at this juncture that Nabriales bursts through the door, shouting, "welcome to the team, CEO!" and smacks her on the arse.

She stiffens, whirling, and he dances away, cackling. 

"I can't get in trouble for that one, Elidibus said! 'Sexual harassment punches down, not up'. You can't harass someone in a position of power over you, and you have _power_ over me now," he continues, doing a truly unfortunate hip-thrust.

"That's...not how _any_ of that works," she says, vaguely horrified, and he retorts, "see? You're doing great already."

"Nabriales? A word?"

Emet-Selch grabs his wayward colleague by the collar, and it appears they will not be having a word so much as fisticuffs.

"Go on down to HR, Elidibus will handle everything. I'll be there momentarily."

She nods, not sure she wants to witness the beatdown about to follow, and leaves.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The HR meeting.

As it turns out, HR isn't actually located on one of the C-suite exec floors, instead firmly in the middle of the building (presumably so all can access it equally), and as she makes her way through the offices, seemingly hundreds of employees appear out of the woodwork to line the halls, peeking out of doorways and (on one memorable occasion) hanging halfway out of an air vent to gawk at her.

"She's the one."

"She has the cocoa."

"It is known."

"It is written."

"Behold, the coming of the CEO!"

"Azem."

" _Azem._ "

"The myth."

"The legend."

"It is _known_."

Frankly, it's all starting to sound a little cult-y, and by the time she reaches Elidibus's office and darts in, shutting the door with more force than strictly necessary, she's halfway to hyperventilating. He looks up from his computer, and hands her a large stack of paperwork and a pen with a serene smile.

"Ah. You're just in time. I've highlighted all the relevant portions, just initial here, here, and here, and sign here. If you'll turn this way--smile for your ID badge, please--and stick your thumb on that scanner, yes, good, and now widen your eyes, please, for our ocular sensors, just so, excellent-"

She's so stunned, bowled over by it all, that for several moments she obeys his instructions unquestioningly before catching herself starting to _actually_ sign the bloody paperwork.

"Wait!" She drops the pen and holds up her hands, extending them out like she's warding off an attack.

"Is there an issue?" Elidibus asks, still with that unruffled expression.

"Yes! A big one! Massive, even! Ye gods, where do I start? I was just here to poke around at _your_ invitation and then Lahabrea--The Machine--and then Nabriales said--and there was this office, and--Emet-Selch was there, and now everyone thinks I'm the godsdamned CEO for some reason, and I don't have to tell you how absurd _that_ is, I hope!" 

It's not exactly a coherent protestation, but all the salient points are more or less there, and she slams her mug down on his desk to cap off her alarm.

"Well," Elidibus tells her, after a moment's contemplation, "you _do_ have the most important qualification for the position."

"Which is?"

"You like hot cocoa."

He grins, a tiny, shit-stirring thing, when she facepalms, but it is gone before she can witness it.

"I jest. I do apologize. Please let me allay some of your fears. In the strictest sense, this company requires no CEO--indeed, the position has been unfilled since our incorporation. Nevertheless, there are certain public-facing duties that remain, from a PR perspective, challenging to manage without someone nominally in the seat. The truest heavy lifting is, naturally, all performed by our Ascian Board. The seat is more useful for... _cohesion,_ than anything else. And one of its most important criteria is, frankly, meshing well with the Ascian Board--as I'm certain you can imagine, only a very particular personality will do well here, let alone be able to tolerate our upper echelons for any extended period of time. Something, I might add, you seem especially well-suited for. You may not have noticed, but our executives have something of an 'image problem'. Their eccentricities, while well-known, are not universally _well-loved._ It has been...recommended...that we 'fix' it."

He's using rather aggressive air quotes at the end there.

"But I've never been an executive anything in my _life,_ and...and we're talking about the largest company on the _planet_! I have no credentials! You'd look like a laughingstock, hiring me! You can't just drop some nobody into the position and just, I don't know, hope for the best!"

Elidibus is nodding and listening, encouraging her to go on, while also subtly redirecting her to the paperwork, placing the discarded pen back in her left hand for her to sign more documents.

"Mmhm, that's very astute of you, and certainly not incorrect. But, you see, you _aren't_ a nobody we pulled off the street. You're our returning CEO Azem, back from your sabbatical to take up the reins of the company once again."

"That _is_ what everyone seems to think, but...I saw that office, Elidibus. And I heard what you just said. Unfilled. There never _was_ an Azem, was there? She's just some rumor you all passed around for convenience' sake, and now half the company believes it!"

A shadow passes over the face of the HR Director, then, and he looks away, mouth opening and closing before he shakes his head.

"That is incorrect. But it also isn't my story to tell."

"Well, regardless, I'm not _Azem,_ that's not even my _name,_ so-"  
  
"Actually, as of the time you signed page 42, it legally _is."_

"You cannot have processed a name change that fast."

He levels her with a look that says nothing so much as, 'bitch, try me'.

"Well... _fuck._ "

* * *

She's trying to wrap her brain around the idea of her, small-time piss-poor nonprofit _church_ worker and volunteer extraordinaire, becoming the CEO of a multinational corporation--no, scratch that, _the_ multinational corporation, without an interview process, without submitting a resume, without having any relevant experience or skills whatsoever, and making a small distressed keening sound in the back of her throat that she is only half-conscious of, when the door opens again and Emet-Selch steps through, taking one look at her and, correctly, assessing that she is on the verge of a mental health crisis.

A hand falls onto her shoulder, large, warm, and reassuring, squeezing gently, reminding her to breathe.

"Elidibus. I trust you'll have everything sorted by the time we return from lunch?"

"Absolutely. I have legal and accounting working through the necessary changes as we speak."

"Excellent. Come, Azem," he says, and now he is apparently addressing her. "I know an excellent little bistro down the way with a truly spectacular wine selection, and they make this goat cheese dip that's just-" and here he kisses his fingers in emphasis.

"Oh, and Elidibus? Do be sure to have secretarial block this off on her schedule as our standing lunch date, yes? She won't be available for the next, mm, let's call it hour, hour and a half."

She assumes this is going to be some sort of working lunch; maybe she'll finally be apprised of literally anything she needs to do the job well, or at all.

Still, as he offers her a hand up, and she takes it, she hears herself asking,

"So, about that wine menu..."

And there's something about the way he seems to light up at her interest, gesturing with his free hand expansively (because his other hand is still wrapped around hers, and he is not letting go), that makes her face heat up, makes her worry about maintaining professionalism (is holding hands professional?).

"You'll love it, trust me," he says, and all she can think is,

_I do._

_I don't know why, but I absolutely do._


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lunch date.

She isn't really sure how they got here. She has the vague impression of being sheltered, Emet-Selch gently ushering her forward, arm around her shoulders, his taller form bearing the brunt of the many stares and questions directed her way, deftly turning them aside with a well-placed word or look, employees scattering before him as though he's parting the seas. She has a cloudy memory of walking into the sunlight, being steered down the street and into a small restaurant, a snap summoning a waiter even as the Director of M&A pulls out a chair for her and orders a bottle of wine.

It isn't until the wine is in front of her, in her hands, to her lips, that she feels fully conscious and present again, and the first thing she notices is how delicious it is--a little fruity and very refreshing. The second thing she notices is the furrow of his brow as he watches her carefully from across the table. He seems concerned, and she thinks it's sweet of him to care, since he doesn't really know her.

"Ah. There you are. Welcome back to the land of the living."

He toasts her with his own glass.

"Feeling any better?"

She flushes with mortification. What was that, a dissociative episode? A panic attack?

"Oh, hells, I'm so sorry, I don't know what happened, I just-"

"It's perfectly fine. Do try the goat cheese dip, it's really very good."

She blinks.

How the hell did she miss an appetizer arriving, too?

She eats. She groans a little. Her mouth waters.

"Oh, _hello."_

She feels a little more human at every bite, and glances up at her lunch partner. He's toying with the stem of his wine glass and the tips of his ears are pink.

"Would you like to look at the menu, or would you rather just be fed? I'm happy to take a shot at ordering, if you prefer," he says, and it occurs to her how _nice_ it sounds, after all that mess just now, to let someone decide for her, to let someone take care of her, even for something so simple as this.

"Oh, by all means, hit me with your best guess," she hums. "You're doing great so far."

"Why, thank you." He murmurs something to a passing waiter and sits back in his chair, all attention and steady regard on her.

"I do apologize for my colleagues. They can be...a bit much, at times, but they grow on you. Like a fungus," he drawls, and she laughs into her wine.

"I still don't understand how _any_ of this happened," she admits, and he nods.

"Have you ever had a gut feeling about someone? You just know somehow you're going to be great friends, or you'll never get along?"

"Well, sure. Doesn't everyone? But that's no reason to _hire_ someone, let alone--seriously, who _are_ you people?"

He smirks.

"Ah, that _is_ the question. I have seen worlds burn and empires crumble, civilizations returned to dust. I have been emperor and peasant, lover and murderer, a tyrant and a savior, and my work is never finished. But to you, my dear? I am but a man."

That's very dramatic, she thinks, but she's pretty sure he just means she should think of them as on equal footing.

"Well, Mr. 'just a man', let me ask you this: what kind of a name is Emet-Selch, anyway?"  
This time, he is the one to laugh.

"Oh, it isn't a name, merely a title. Much like 'Director of Mergers and Acquisitions'. I'm something else entirely on my passport. We're simply accustomed to using titles in the office."  
"What's on your passport?"

He shrugs.

"My picture."

She narrows her eyes at him and flicks a piece of bread across the table.

"Alright, alright. I'm sorry. I had to. Solus Galvus. That's what's on my passport."

She smiles.

"Solus, then. Thank you for taking me to lunch, Solus."

"The pleasure is mine, I assure you."

"Oh, I probably should have asked sooner, but it just slipped my mind with...everything else," she gestures vaguely around her. "How much will I owe you?"

He tilts his head like the concept is entirely foreign to him.

"Owe me? Mm. Well, it's entirely selfish, but I'd ask that you not run screaming from us _just_ yet. Give it a few days, at least, before you flee the country. And let me take you to dinner. There's this place that does hibachi--do you like seafood? I bet you like seafood. Anyway, I know the chef, and-"

She cuts him off, giggling.

"That sounds lovely, Solus, really, but what I meant was, how much gil do I owe you for _lunch."_

He recoils in something akin to horror.

"Don't be absurd, as if you'd have to pay. It's on the corporate card, and even if it wasn't, I'm offended at the very notion of a lady offering to..." He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. "Don't tell me you've done this before?"

"I usually split the check with friends and dates, yeah. It's polite."

"This is what passes for manners with this generation? Our star is truly doomed. Not you, my dear, it isn't your fault. Young men have merely taken advantage of your generous nature. Ah, here we are. Your lunch."

He says it all with an air of such surety, such confidence, that she finds herself questioning etiquette as she knows it. And there's no time to contradict him, not that she's sure she even has a mind to, since their food is here.

The wine is mellowing her, and she could listen to him talk _forever._ His voice is sex on a stick, she thinks, and then darts a glance at him like he can read her mind.

"Now that you're here, Lahabrea will be wanting another cat for the feline enrichment center," he continues, as they begin to eat. "He's had his eye on a ginger tom for a while, and he'll try to con you into picking him, but don't let him bully you. There are plenty of cats to choose from, and his goal of having a cat sleep on every part of him at once is _not_ company-approved or supported."

"Oh, I don't know, it sounds like a good goal to me," she teases, and he huffs.

"The sleeping part, certainly."

"Oh! That's right! The _nap_ pods. Those are incredible!" She slaps her hand on the table, launching into a description of how they look cozier than her own bed and how she isn't sure she'd ever be able to get up again.

Solus's terrible posture straightens a bit, and he preens.

"I designed those. Mortals spend a full third of their lives asleep; it's obviously serious business."

"'Mortals'," she repeats, shaking her head at his dramatics. "Like you're some ancient..." She reaches for a phrase, and one pops onto her tongue, fully formed, "--sorcerer of eld." 

It echoes in her ears when she says it, like she's repeating something someone else said. Solus, for his part, looks momentarily gutted, a shadow passing over his face before his ever-present smirk resumes its position.

"Perhaps I am, Azem. Perhaps I am." Right. She's 'Azem' now, that's the title or the name (she's not clear on which) they use for the CEO. Nice of him to get her used to it.

Raising an eyebrow, he asks, "well, can this 'sorcerer of eld' tempt you into dessert?"

"Now you're speaking my language."

"Chocolate or caramel?"

"Both? Both."

"A woman after my own heart."

"I'm easily seduced by food."

"I'll have to remember that," he purrs, and she gently kicks his leg under the table.

"I thought this was a _business_ lunch on the company card?"

"Ah, how she wounds me. My poor heart may never recover."

"Your poor heart is taking me to dinner later, I think it'll be fine."

"And in the end, my charms win the day."

Is he joking? She's...at least 60% sure he's joking.

Probably.

She wouldn't say no to free dinner, though.

She wouldn't say no to him in _general_.

She shouldn't be thinking that.

She wonders what those gloved, long fingers would feel like on her skin, what his bare hands might look like, _why_ he's wearing leather gloves with his suit and why it looks so _good_ on him.

She shouldn't be thinking _that,_ either, and she might be a little fucked. He's so far out of her league it isn't even funny. She needs to put this budding infatuation down before it becomes an issue, _now._

He smiles at her again, and his eyes crinkle at the corners, that lock of white hair falling forward into his face, and her heart stutters.

Okay. Maybe she can kill the crush dead _after_ lunch.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A resignation is tendered; news gets out.

Thancred Waters cannot believe his ears when he hears the news that Warrior has tendered her resignation, effective immediately. True enough, the notice is there in professional language on letterhead, and her signature is affixed to the paper (though it looks suspiciously like a stamp, and since when did she make a stamp for her signature?), But still, he cannot believe it.

"She wouldn't do that to us, it's not like her to just up and abandon the fight! She isn't that kind of person! Did she say where she's going?"

Wordlessly, Tataru points to the seal on the letterhead, identifiable as one of the many subsidiaries of Zodia(r)k.

Thancred fumes. 

"I'm going down there. I'm marching down there right now and demanding answers. I'll make them give her back. She would never work for them. She must not know, someone must have lied to her. I'll make her see reason."

He doesn't make it past the front door.

"Mr. Waters, I presume? I'm Lahabrea with Zodia(r)k. We've been expecting you."

Thancred has a moment of deja-vu in the extreme.

"I'm sorry, do I know you? Have--have we--?"

_Have we fucked,_ is what he wants to ask, because he swears he knows this man _intimately,_ has had him _inside_ himself, and it's a feeling so stark and inexplicable that he can't possibly place it as anything else. He must have, must have bottomed for this man in some club somewhere in a drunken haze in his half-forgotten (shameful) past, but Lahabrea just laughs at him, a smug curl of the lip.

"Having memory problems, are we? I'm certain _you_ have seen _me_ before--online, or television, if nowhere else. I, however, cannot say I've had the... _privilege_...in this lifetime." He sneers on the word 'privilege', clear that it is anything _but,_ and Thancred just stammers uselessly,

"But you--you knew who I was, I--

"Yes, a former coworker of one of our new hires, _do_ try to keep up. I believe your name was listed as a reference on the application, lord only knows why. I can't imagine you would have been a _good_ one."

"Where's Warrior? I want to see her."

"No," Lahabrea sighs, already bored of the conversation, "I think not. Your little church group can find someone else to run ragged, and your friend can count herself lucky to have escaped your clutches before more harm was done. I assure you, she will be treated quite well at our Yanxian--sorry, Japanese subsidiary. Run along, now. You're blocking the door."

Thancred makes an attempt to dash past Lahabrea, and is promptly tossed on his ass, the other man surprisingly strong for all that he seems perpetually malnourished, the door to the building shut in his face.

Lahabrea dusts off his hands and speaks into a headset.

"Yes, I told him. Just as instructed. They'll be chasing their tails in Japan until it's far too late to connect the dots. This time...we _will_ succeed."

* * *

Obviously, there is no such application; her letter of resignation utterly forged, her signature duplicated, but these are small details.

Obviously, Lahabrea has the unfortunate remembrance of who Mr. Waters is-was to him; his coworkers will not let him forget it.

Many a company drinking party has been enlivened by the retelling of the 'time Lahabrea possessed a hobo', and how the stench clung to his robes.

Lahabrea has attempted to counter with the (true) fact that he was the one who put the idea of white auracite 'killing' them into the Scions' empty heads, only requiring a modicum of special effects and waiting until their mortal lives were over to seal the deal.

Nabriales, he would point out, rather oversold his own death scene--'oh, no, I was meant to be immortal, I cannot diiiiiie-'

At least half the time, this distraction would serve its purpose, and Nabriales would be induced to get up and reenact the pivotal moment with much flailing and groaning.

* * *

Azem, as she supposes she should now get used to thinking of herself, cannot recall ever having been this happy. It's weird, when she thinks about it; her life has been a series of dead-end jobs and volunteer work, just struggling to stay afloat, keep her head above water, keep the wolf of eviction from the door, and do a little good in the process. She doesn't have family, only the loosest ties to friends and coworkers, couldn't afford a pet, and her 'relationships' have never gotten past a second date. She hasn't thought about it, hasn't had time to think about it, but her life is so _empty._

And yet, ever since she saved Nabriales from choking at that charity auction, her life has been exciting and full of color. Everyone at Zodia(r)k is weird and wonderful and a little horrifying, from a world and class she knows nothing about, but they've all seemed to embrace her in their own perplexing and unique ways. Like she was a missing piece of a puzzle they've been trying to complete that got stuck under the couch cushions for years, and now that they've found it and slotted it in, there's a palpable sense of relief and _rightness._ That's the feeling she gets, being around them. And it goes both ways, too. Part of her feels like she's known these people forever, like they're familiar and dear to her, even though that's impossible.

She already wants to hug Lahabrea again; the poor man clearly needs more human contact, not less, whatever Nabriales says. Speaking of, Nabriales needs to be smacked more often, the cur. And then there's Solus.

He's effortlessly distracted her out of her worries, drawing her out with funny anecdotes about his coworkers, questions about how she likes the food, little flirting comments that are just this side of joking (she thinks), that make her flirt back, just to watch him fluster a little behind his supercilious airs, catching him off guard when he doesn't expect her to reciprocate. By the time they've polished off the desserts and the last of the wine, she's more than comfortable when he offers her his elbow for the walk back, placing her hand into the crook and teasing him one more time for the road.

"Mm, what kind of cologne is that? Do you think it comes in a pillow spray? I just want to bury my face and inhale."

She's pretty sure he chokes a little before he responds, predictably, 

"my dear Azem, if you wanted to go to bed with me, you only had to say~"

She laughs, and gently taps his arm.

"Alright. That's enough of that, or I'll start to think you're being serious."

"You wound me. I am _always_ serious when it comes to matters of the heart," he says, in an overwrought tone.

"Still trying to earn your community theatre badge, I see," she says, deftly sidestepping Nabriales as he careens toward them, arms outstretched and hands grabby.

"Excellent dodge," Solus compliments her, and she beams.

"I've got good reflexes."

"Okay wait hang on don't be mad and don't _hit_ me again, Emet, but the press _miiiiight_ have gotten wind somehow that Azem was back, and they _miiiiiight_ be surrounding the building trying to catch a glimpse. So I _miiiiiiiight_ have told them she'd agreed to be photographed--no interviews!--if they'd fuck off and come back later today. So," he continues, all in a rush, "we might have hair, makeup and wardrobe on standby to tackle you as soon as you get in the door, please don't be mad I already took care of-"

"Wait, what do you mean, 'wardrobe'? How do you know my measurements?"

"I'm good with my hands," Nabriales purrs, winking, and she resists the urge to hit him again.

"Allow me," Solus says, and digs his thumb into one of the other man's joints in a way that seems particularly painful, based on the way Nabriales writhes and squirms like a pinned butterfly. 

"Owowowow I can't be sorry, it's a talent, it's a _gift!"_

_"_ Teach me that," she demands, and Solus's answering grin is very, very evil when he responds,

"with _pleasure."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to split this into two because I'm still working on the NSFW (porn) part. Stand by for horny Nabs, more obvious news at 11.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here's the porn. CW for pain-play, humiliation/degradation (consensual and enthusiastic), spitting, light CBT... you know, the good stuff.

_Nabriales is shoved onto a chair, hands gripping the sides so hard they're turning pale, as Solus hurts him, teaches her to hurt him._

_"He likes it. He wants it. Don't you, Nabriales?"_

_"Yes," he babbles, "more than anything, fuck, oh, hurt me, punish me, do whatever you want~, I'll like it, I swear I will-"_

_"Maybe later, if you're good," she tells him._

_"Do you know why we call him Majestic?" Solus asks, and his voice is low and amused._

_"Dick, dick, it's my dick," Nabriales volunteers, like he'll be given points for a correct answer._

_"It's a good dick, can I show it to you, can I, please? You don't have to touch it if you don't want, but I could be good to you, I could be so nice, I could make you cum with it, I'd love to make you cum, I bet you're beautiful when you cum-"_

_"Nabriales," Solus cuts him off, stern. "What day is it?"_

_Beneath their combined hands, body vibrating with the agony they inflict, Nabriales takes a moment to answer._

_"Not...team building day?" He manages, slowly._

_"That's right," Solus agrees. "And what does it not being team building day mean? "_

_Nabriales sighs, long and mournful._

_"My dick stays in my pants."_

_"That's correct."_

_Nabriales has his hand in the pocket of his work slacks, arm moving unsubtly as he fondles himself through the fabric, his erection clearly tenting it, and he shifts on his chair, rocking up into empty air._

_"Nabriales," Solus scolds him. "That's inappropriate. Apologize to Azem."_

_His breath is on her neck, his body caging her in as he looms over her, his hand on hers as he aligns their fingers, showing her where to press, and Nabriales below her is the very picture of barely-leashed lust, and she is so painfully aroused by all of it._

_"Sorry, I'm sorry, Azem, I'll be good, I promise, I'm really sorry," Nabriales scrambles to do as he's told._

_Something comes over her, then, and she presses down on his jaw with her thumb, prying his lips apart._

_"Open."_

_He does, and she hovers her face above his, only an ilm away from a kiss...and spits. He moans, and she shuts his mouth the same way._

_"Swallow."_

_He does, audibly._

_"Say thank you."_

_"Oh my God, oh my fuck, oh Zodiark, thank you, Azem, thank you, I've missed this, I needed this, oh--"_

_She lifts her knee and places her foot on his stomach, her stiletto heel grinding against his cock, and she leans forward, increasing the pressure._

_"Tell me you're sorry."_

_"I am, I'm so fucking sorry-"_

_"Do you even know what you're sorry for?"_

_He hesitates._

_"For wanting to use my cock on you when I haven't earned it yet?"_

_She goes for the lymph node under his arm, twisting viciously, and he shouts and bucks up into her stiletto, agonized ecstasy rolling over his face as he strains against her, and he begs so prettily._

_"I won't, I won't use it at all, but can I touch you, put my hands on you, make you feel good, please, I really really want to, Azem..."  
_

_She tilts her head up at Solus, craning her neck back to see him upside down, and raises an eyebrow in askance--what does he think?_

_"Well," he says, "maybe just a little."_

_And he pulls her back against him, those long, gloved fingers she fantasizes about spreading over her stomach and hips and holding her there, holding her still._

_His lips press against the juncture of shoulder and neck, and he growls against her skin._

_"Go on. Show our new CEO your appreciation."_

_It is what Nabriales has been waiting for, permission, and he springs into action, palms cupping her breasts and rubbing at her nipples over the fabric, plucking and playing until, even through her bra and her bodice, she can feel them start to peak._

_"Fuck, you've got such pretty tits, Azem. They feel so good in my hands; I bet they're just as delicious on my tongue. Can I taste them?"  
_

_He is, technically, asking, but he's also tugging her neckline and bra down enough to free one of said nipples as he talks, and then his mouth is around it, and yeah, he really could be putting that tongue to much better use. He suckles and licks and gently bites, even as nimble fingers slide up under her dress and pull her smalls to the side, touching her directly._

_"Are you wet for me, gorgeous? Do you like this? Me on my knees for you, Emet watching us? You do, don't you--oh, fuck, you're soaked~ You do like me~" _

_A finger slides inside her and he moans and palms himself briefly, squeezing his dick as if to say 'no, not yet'._

_"Zodiark, you're molten, you're sucking me in, oh, by all the gods what I'd do between your legs with my mouth and my cock, I'd have you seeing all new constellations..."_

_He keeps up a steady stream of babble against her breast as he dips a second finger in beside the first, crooking them and speeding his pace, simulating what he wishes to do to her with other parts. She feels, impossibly, tiny vibrations from his thumb on her clit, the pads of his fingers, the tip of his tongue, little earthquakes from a living sex toy, and she dreams of shoving his head between her thighs and demanding, 'lick'. She imagines his tongue filling her, longer and thicker and more agile than a tongue should be, and in the now, Nabriales adds a third finger, stretching her deliciously. Behind her, Solus licks a stripe up her neck, rubs at her hips, and she's so close, god--_

"Beautiful? You awake over there? It's about time to rinse you."

She jolts and looks around, unsure where Solus went, body aching, hot and needy and prevented from release, and Nabriales is here, but he isn't on his knees, and--oh.

She cannot say, even to herself, whether she is relieved or disappointed that none of it was real.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Nabriales? Azem gets a makeover, takes some pictures, and the office once more descends into chaos.

A dream, then.

She must have nodded off somehow under the heat lamps as a team of people worked on her, a staggering list of treatments, lotions and potions, unguents and dye, wax and polish. Honestly, she isn't sure how she managed that, given the chaos around her, but the fact is inarguable, as is the lingering phantom sensation keeping her keyed up.

She blushes hotly, avoiding the gaze of Nabriales as she tilts her head back in a sink to rinse.

"Bad dream?"

He tries to catch her eye as he pries, crowding into her space, watching her flush, even as she's patted down with a towel and led back to a different chair for cut and style. A woman swoops in from the side and begins to apply foundation.

"Or was it a gooddream?"

He grins, sharklike, waggling his brows at her.

"Was I in it?"

"Quit asking inappropriate questions," she snaps, and is scolded to keep her head still by her stylist and makeup artist both.

"That's not a _noooo~_ Oh, Zodiark, I _was_ , wasn't I? Our new CEO was having a naughty dream about me!"

He's utterly delighted, aglow with his good fortune.

"No need to dream when you've got the real article right here, sweetheart. In fact, just say the word and I'd be happy to-"

"If you don't shut up, I'm going to knock your teeth out," she tells him as calmly as she can manage.

"The blue-balls have made you testy, I see," he cackles, and she sighs, rubbing her arms to try to shake it off.

She isn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he's right. Besides, she can barely process the workings of her apparently depraved imagination, herself. Solus she might have expected to fantasize about, but Nabriales? 

And the way she was behaving toward him was truly beyond the pale, completely inappropriate even if he hadn't been her coworker.

She is rescued from a forced response by an Elezen waving hair scissors who shoos Nabriales out of the room so the 'master can work', and everything is a blur after that, until she's being positioned under the glare of box lights, posed like a doll in preparation for the photoshoot.

She finally catches a glimpse of herself in a reflective surface and stifles a gasp.

Her hair is now as white as bone and styled in a way that appears casual and effortless, but in reality took the better part of an hour and several highly specialized tools to achieve. Her face appears to have no pores and her makeup is perfect in every way. She's wearing a black dress and heels that look more architectural than structurally sound, and she is perched on the edge of a desk dragged in for this express purpose. She looks strong. Beautiful. Powerful. Nothing like herself. It is a modern mask, she thinks, a transformation--no one who knew her will ever connect this stunning creature to the schlubby office worker she was.

She starts to reach a hand up to touch her face and her makeup artist smacks her for the trouble.

"No touching ze artwork!"

Chastised, she lowers her hand to the desk again.

And then the entire Ascian Board walk in, chattering away about bringing in the media, until they spot her and still. Still utterly, before approaching her with something like reverence, like wonder. 

Slowly, Elidibus reaches for a lock of her hair, and any protest by the stylist is silenced immediately by the look in his eyes.

"I'd forgotten this..." He murmurs, shaking his head as if to clear it. "How could I have ever-"

He seems pensive, quietly sad, and she wants to draw him out of his melancholy, but she's being crowded on all sides by so many others.

Lahabrea stares, his mouth twisting up painfully slowly, and she thinks it's the first time she has ever seen him smile. 

"Beautiful," he pronounces gravely, and she can tell he means it.

She rewards him with a smile in turn.

Solus looks as though someone has run him over, but it was the death he always wished for, and he blinks rapidly like there is something in his eye. 

"Zodiark grant me strength," he whispers, like a prayer, like a curse, his gloved fists clenched at his sides. To keep from reaching for her? From throwing something? She isn't sure. Why he's using the company's name as part of an oath is also a mystery.

"Shit, that's hot," Nabriales whistles appreciatively, breaking the tension. 

Solus seems to realize something, jolting out of his reverie, and again, she hears, "Nabriales? Another _word_?"

He drags the younger man off by the ear, and she hears snatches of conversation as they mutter in a corner.

"--with your _aether_ , it's all _over_ her--"

"...put you in it, I thought you'd be more..."  
"...did it for any reason other than your own _gratification_..."

"--team-building day-"

"... _show_ you team-building," the last part growled threateningly, just as the assembled photographers enter the room.

Azem tries to behave. Truly, she does. For several whole minutes, even! But just sitting here is _boring_ , and she knows the pictures are missing something, anyway, won't be complete without--

"HR, M&A, PR, if you would, please?" She sounds very calm, very collected, and she prides herself on it, even though she's anything but.

The three executives drift closer to her, curious and expectant, and she rearranges them to her liking with nary a word needed, holding a hand out for Elidibus to lift to his lips in a courtly gesture, half-bowed over it, pledging himself. Lahabrea kneels at her feet, one heel dangling from her toes as he lifts it back onto her stockinged sole, the fairytale prince cupping the princess's lost shoe. And finally, she leans back against Solus behind her, her other hand reaching up to cup his cheek blindly.

**That** feels right, and she relaxes into his hold, lids slipping to half-mast--and a thousand shutter clicks go off at once, and _that_ is the image on the front page of every website, magazine and newspaper tomorrow morning:  
The new CEO with her executive staff dancing attendance, orbiting her as satellites to their sun. It's more than a little scandalous. Erotic, even. All three of them look, to varying degrees, intoxicated by her presence, and she, benevolent in her triumph, bestowing her attentions upon her supplicants. It looks like an image that should be in a temple somewhere, not a board room.

"It's perfect,' Nabriales breathes when he sees the image on digital camera rolls, and for once, he doesn't even sound sarcastic.

"Just one question--"

"No, no questions." Mitron, their head of Security, ushers the media out.

For a moment, there is crystalline silence.

Azem takes a breath--

There's a crash from below, and muffled shouting.

"--is loose! I repeat, the winner of the coffee shot contest is loose! Someone grab him before he-"

"Oh, gods, he's heading for The Machine! Someone, for the love of god, stop him before Lahabrea murders us all!"

Azem mouths the words 'coffee shot contest' to herself briefly. 

Slipping off her ridiculous shoes, she hops down from the desk and takes the stairs to avoid the reporters, Lahabrea hot on her heels.

In the distance, she hears Solus muttering, "godsdamnit, underlings, what did I _tell_ you? You wait to pull this shit until Lahabrea is _out_ of the office-"

"You'll help me stop him?" Lahabrea urges her, and, in what appears to be (for him) quite the fit of bravery, grabs her by the hand to pull her down the stairs faster.

"I--sure, of course! I'm not sure what's going on, exactly, but a jittery employee barrelling toward your contraption probably spells disaster?"

Either for the members of M&A if he succeeds and Lahabrea _does_ enact vengeance, or for Solus if the plot fails and Lahabrea...still...enacts vengeance... _ah._

She's not going to win this one. Is she.

"I knew I should have installed that electric fence," Lahabrea sighs, and nope. Definitely not winning this.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A window into the minds of some of the execs as Azem's tenure begins.

Nabriales knows he's not special. Not like Emet. Not like Elidibus. Not like even Lahabrea, demoted as he is. He's not Unsundered. He wasn't there for the beginning--or at least, he can't remember, if he was. Usually, he's content with being in the background. It's easier to work that way. No one expects too much of him. He's seen the pressure those three put on themselves.

Most people don't even know what it is he _does_ at the company, and he likes it that way, honest. His business cards have 'Dept of General Affairs' on them, and he tries to live up to that name by, well, having lots of affairs. That's why his personal cell is ALSO on his business card. Along with 'call me' and a little heart on the back.

He has a (some might say) regrettable lower back tattoo of a flaming heart with scrollwork on either side, because once he heard that such things were 'tramp stamps' and he strongly believes in having accurate branding and self-identification.

Anyway.

He mostly enjoys the low expectations, being the office clown, the token pervert (which, hypocritical, they're all perverts). But even he acknowledges there are some thing that corporate sponsored orgies can't fix.

Or other team building activities, like the time they went to an escape room that Nabriales booked for them, and it had to be explained multiple times that thinking outside the box did not include discorporating, systematically dismantling the room starting with the walls, or blackmail--though in the spirit of the occasion he did have to admire the enterprising spirit of the employee who almost pulled it off. M&A's champion title was subsequently revoked, and a three minute penalty added to their escape time, which enabled R&D to edge them out for the crown. R&D had, in fact, managed to dig a hole halfway to the parking lot by the time anyone realized they were missing. And if that didn't count as escaping, frankly, no one could agree on what _did._

But yes, there remained certain things that no amount of company picnics (fights broke out over Sriracha preferences), zoo trips (Nabriales somehow managed to set the bonobos loose on the other guests, and while he found it quite delightful, it did get them kicked out of the zoo), fantasy football (see above re: company picnics), public floggings, private floggings, or wine tastings could mend. (And, frankly, the less said about their tabletop roleplaying game session, the better. Fandaniel and Nabriales had competing bard concepts with the absolute worst luck at seduction rolls, Elidibus somehow had a paladin who kept _succeeding_ at seduction rolls, and Lahabrea's wizard befriended every kobold and hag they came across)

The hearts of their Unsundered executives were, indeed, three such things.

* * *

Elidibus can't remember having a partner.

Elidibus can't remember a lot of things.

Nothing pertaining to his job, no, he has an eidetic memory when it comes to work. He can quote you the entirety of their company handbook, IT policy, and every relevant procedure to onboarding, firing, and anything in between. He should know; he wrote most of it.

It's his personal life, or lack thereof, where the gaps become apparent.

He owns so little. He doesn't even keep fish or a pet plant. Not even a cactus. He doesn't have hobbies. He has work. Work is his hobby. Work is his life. There is nothing but the work, and what remains to be done.

A niggling sensation hits him sometimes in the recesses of his mind, that once, things were...other than they are. Once, he had some other meaning, other ties.

Those thoughts are disloyal thoughts, and he does not think them for long. The company is accomplishing what eons of scheming could not. The world is reshaping itself under their thumb, every household embedded with Zodia(r)k tech, or media, or consumer goods. And the star inches closer to the Ardor, day by day.

Soon, He will be everywhere. And when He is, Elidibus' work will finally be done.

Perhaps then he will remember all he has forgotten.

Perhaps, then, he will be more than a vessel filled with one purpose.

Perhaps--ah, their new Azem is entering his office again. A welcome distraction. She's very excitable. Strange creature that she is. Her energy invigorates him, even as he works to tame her alarm.

Yes. He will ensure she stays. The paperwork he just had her sign will cement it. Legal. He needs to contact legal.

He's shocked to find himself humming when she leaves. 

* * *

Lahabrea is...fine. He's fine. He has Ige, and they can still be a team on team-building day, and as long as Emet doesn't catch him sneaking down to R&D, it's almost like he has his old job back. He has The Machine, and his interns, and all the caffeine he could ever want, and--

And when Azem hugs him, his mind stalls out, because he cannot recall the last time someone touched him outside of team-building day. He seems to vaguely remember someone adding it to the handbook, making it a Rule--do not distract Lahabrea, Genius At Work.

Why had he wanted that rule, again?

She's so _warm._ Not like the coffee. Different.

Is it blasphemous to The Machine if he thinks he might like it better, this way?

Nabriales has to pry his hands from her face, and Lahabrea cannot remember putting them there, but he makes a discontent noise at her absence.

He could make other things from The Machine for her. He can. He will.

Perhaps she will...hold him, again, if he does?

* * *

Emet-Selch isn't lonely. He'll hurt, very badly, anyone who tries to imply otherwise.

He isn't delusional, either, no matter what they say about him around the office.

He's faithful.

There's a difference.

That's all he has to say on the matter.

Now leave him be. He has work to do, and a subaquatic home to prepare, and dinner reservations to make.

No, he's not elaborating. He's _busy._


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warrior is having A DAY.

Gods, it's been a _day._

Setting aside the fact that she and Lahabrea had to form a human barrier to The Machine's closet, warding off the half-feral caffeine-crazed employee with push brooms and spray bottles until someone got the bright idea to shine a UV lamp on the bastard, who hissed like a vampire and skittered away from the light, thus freeing Lahabrea to check on his precious contraption--

and she'd accepted due compensation in the form of some kind of coffee smoothie from him, thanked him, and distractedly kissed him on the cheek, which broke him again--

Setting aside the fact that the intern, Cups, has been following her around all day with _so much hot chocolate_ like that's his only job, and, actually, it might be? She isn't sure...

Anyway, everyone has been trying to get her attention to approve this or that idea (and there were some incredibly stupid ideas, she'd like to make that clear right now. Like. Turning Accounts into a sauna because they 'didn't need the space'? Stupid. The idiot who then tried one-upping that idea and proposed turning accounts into a _beach,_ and then actually looked up how much it would cost to import all that _sand?_ Spectacularly stupid. Then a _third_ idiot argued it should be a pebble beach, not a _sand_ beach, because sand was rough and coarse and irritating and got everywhere, and at that point, she just tossed her hands up, left them to it, and reminded herself to let whoever was in charge of expenditures know that under no circumstances should _any_ of that happen).

She's gone from department to department, lending a listening ear, learning what everyone does, and why, and how, and what they'd need to do it better. She's learning a lot. 

LIke how Emet-Selch, Solus, rules M&A with an iron fist, and is responsible for a disproportionate number of things that keep the company running and, well, functional; that his employees fear and love him in equal measure; that he poaches talent shamelessly from rival firms, and rides in like an avenging valkyrie during hostile takeovers, acquiring (rescuing?) whole departments, that he's harsh but fair, demands perfection but also expects it of himself, and that no one in M&A, at least, seems to think he's crazy.

Someone from IT hides a sign that said 'it has been 2 days since our last corporate espionage attempt' as she passes, and she has to raise an eyebrow at that one, because the sign wasn't exactly forthcoming or clear on if they were the ones poaching secrets or being poached _from._ She feels that should be a key distinction, really.

And then there's the questionable legality of it all, a fact brought into stark focus by the appearance in legal of a shady-looking individual named Dimitri, who resembles nothing so much as a low-level goon, holding a briefcase open for inspection. And, for the record, what's in that briefcase? Looks a lot like drugs.  
  
When she inquires, politely, if there is something anyone would like to tell her about mafia ties, the man from legal (Loghrif?) pauses for a beat too long and then replies,   
  
"No. Whatever would make you say that? All our off-shore accounts are 100% legal and vetted by our attorneys as a matter of course."  
  
Azem motions, somewhat forcefully, toward the briefcase.  
  
"Customs didn't give you any trouble, I hope?"

"No, sir, I just gave them your name and they let me right through."

At this point, she's shouting.  
  
"You're bribing government officials and dealing _drugs?!"_

Loghrif shakes his head, protesting,   
  
"Oh, this isn't for me. It's high-quality Peruvian catnip for the feline enrichment center."  
  
"And," Nabriales comments from behind her, because she just has an entourage of bored corporate executives following her around, apparently (and don't they have anything better to do? Actual, you know, jobs?), "it isn't bribery if they want the money. Emet told me."  
  
"That is literally the definition of bribery," Elidibus sighs.  
  
"No money changed hands, do calm yourselves. Someone simply owed me a few favors, is all," Loghrif sniffs.  
  
"That's blackmail!" Azem is pretty sure it's blackmail? 

"It's quid-pro-quo, actually." A new voice joins in, one of the Ascian board she hasn't met before.  
  
"Mitron, you aren't helping."

"Ah. Then...yes, we bribed them." 

"No, no, it can't be bribery. I've given money on more than one occasion to complete an acquisition. Surely, someone would have said something if it were considered bribery." And now Solus is here, too.

"I've brought it up with you several times, Emet," Elidibus corrects.

"Oh, is that what that one memo was about? I can't say I was paying attention."

"Incidentally, now that we have a CEO, are you sure we even still _need_ an HR department?" Nabriales asks, buffing his nails with an emory board he pulled from somewhere.

"I will see my duty through to the end!" Elidibus declares hotly, and she turns and glares at Nabriales, because, what the _fuck,_ of _course_ they need an HR department...

So, yes. It's been a _day,_ and she is more than ready to wail on something approved for hitting in the company gym for a while.

It's just a shame no one thought to warn her about Zenos, yet.


	11. Chapter 11

Zenos Galvus has had a shitty, shitty day.

He's barely back from Japan after some idiots under him mucked up a perfectly simple business deal, and the home office is in utter chaos. Something about the CEO coming back.

Madness.

As if they don't all know the CEO is a fiction, a polite one they all maintain to keep great-grandpa Solus from shitting bricks at them. Supposedly, he had a fiancee once. Long, long before Zenos' time. She died in some accident and the poor bastard never got over it. Decorated the empty office like she was just on business travel and would be back any day now. Gave him some comfort in his dotage, Zenos assumes. Whatever. He doesn't care. He's not much of a family man, anyway.

And that creep from Accounting--Accounts?--Billing? Whatever--keeps stalking him, which is as disturbing and discomfiting now as the first time he sighed lustily over the squat rack at Zenos. The fuck is that guy's name, again? Galadriel? He can't say he gives enough of a damn to remember.

Anyway. Shitty day. Looks like he's not the only one who's had one, judging from the way this girl is kicking the hell out of a punching bag. With a surprising amount of strength, actually, given how she looks.

"Quite the beast, aren't you?" He calls from the bench press, and she turns to look at him, brows raised, probably judging him. It's a rude thing to say to a stranger, he supposes, but that's never stopped him before.

"As fascinating as it is to watch you try to tear the stuffing out of that bag with your bare hands, I think I have a better idea."

"Oh?" She's humoring him, he can tell, but she won't be for long. He'll make sure of _that._

_"Spar with me instead."_

She narrows her eyes, considering. Cracks her neck from side to side. Then her knuckles. Eyes him, up and down. Taking his measure. He wonders if she likes what she sees. That's new. He's never cared, before. 

"Oh, it's on like Kong," she mutters inexplicably, and that's all the warning he gets before she's flinging herself at him, the little spitfire.

She fights dirty, not that he expected anything different.

He's glad of it, really. More of a challenge, that way. He has the sheer bulk, but she has the agility of a slippery eel, and they're well-matched. Unstoppable force, meet immovable object. They _dance_ through the space, cardio machines and free weights scattered in the wake of their passing. And oh, what a glorious dance it is. His blood is singing, heart pounding, a mad cackle escaping him as she goes for his nads, and _fuck,_ when was the last time he smiled like this? Or at all? 

"Yes, yes! Let us embrace violence together!" He exults. "My beast. My _prey_."

Something seems to snap in her, then. Her eyes go unfocused and far away, looking at him but _past_ him, and while up until now she's been using mixed martial arts moves on him, now, shit gets _weird._

His ears are ringing, possibly because she brained him with a book of some kind, and there's a little blue dog?thing? Nipping at his heels, biting his shins, and then she pulls a big fuck-off sword from somewhere (seriously, where? Where did she get it?) And he has to fend her off with a barbell and a yoga mat. She's putting distance between them, getting into a fencing stance, and another impossible fucking weapon appears, and...did she just set something on fire? The sprinkler systems activate, and he dives and rolls behind an exercise ball as she backflips out of his reach, and...it's a damn good thing the ceilings aren't low here, because that's some impressive air she's getting.

Oh, this, _this_ is what he's waited for, two monsters in pretty skin duking it out for supremacy. He loves it. He never wants it to stop.

It does, inevitably, when one or both of them ends up punching a hole through the wall, and she seems to come out of the trance of bloodlust, muttering something about repair bills and prising herself off him.

From the same perplexing not-place, she retrieves what appears to be nothing more than a carpentry saw and other various odds and ends, and she starts mending what they wrecked in record time, while he looks on in stupified astonishment.

But he can't let it end there, so he says, "you need a good cool down after that. Have you tried the steam room yet?"

* * *

"You little hellcat, you tried to bite me!" He's delighted, honestly.

"Not tried. DID. I _did_ bite you."

She bares her teeth at him, and they're slightly bloody, though he can't tell if it's from a cut on the inside of her lip, or from the chunk she took out of his arm when he tried to put her in a headlock. It's quite possibly the hottest thing he's ever seen.

He leans his head back against the wall of the sauna, and she follows suit, comfortable in the close, hot quarters with him, despite him only having a towel wrapped low on his hips and her with one just covering her from breast to thighs, bone-white hair piled haphazardly atop her head. 

He stretches his legs a little, his thigh pressing against her sweat-dewed skin, and she sighs, letting her eyes slip shut.

"So. Are we gonna talk about...any of that?" He asks her.

"I'd really rather we didn't. Consider it a favor to a... _friend._ Please?"

And, well. He's so irrationally pleased that she considers him a friend--a warrior like that, designating him _worthy--_ that there's nothing he can do but nod.

Okay, so they aren't gonna talk about it. But she could make a living fighting professionally, with skills like that. What the hell is she doing in corporate Amaurot, languishing behind a desk? He can see it in her, see she misses the challenge. So, why? 

"Sure. But, hey, do _me_ a favor? Jab your finger through that hole just there for me?"

She does, and the muffled groan of 'ow, my eye' from the hole proves his suspicions correct about his stalker having installed a peephole for his gross activities. She raises an eyebrow at him, and he shrugs.

"I never asked you, but I probably should have, earlier. Are you, uh, the personal trainer?"

"Why, do I look like one?" He grins, and she cracks an eye, squinting at him with lips pursed before gesturing with a hand to encompass his form.

"Honestly? Yeah. You really fucking do," she says, smirking at him.

"I'll take that as a compliment," he decides, before informing her, "but no. I'm not."

"Oh. Do...you even work here?" She's looking at him, now, like she's wondering if he's a sexy hobo who wandered in off the street and security just never bothered to mop him up, or something.

"Technically, I'm in M&A. How about you? New talent for the admin pool?"

She laughs so hard he's a little concerned about her health.

"Technically? I'm the godsdamned CEO."

"Good one," he says, a laugh rolling out of him as he swipes at his upper lip with his thumb. When she doesn't say anything in response, he turns to face her more fully. "You're joking."

"If only," she sighs.

"All those old bastards on the Ascian Board finally picked someone? Hard to believe. Although, if you're as bloodthirsty in the board room as you are in the gym, I guess I can see the appeal."

Alright, so his flirtation skills are a little rusty, but he's pretty sure that's a blush on her face. He's halfway to making a move when the doors to sauna fly open and Emet-Selch himself storms in, taking in him and the crazy girl who claims she's the new CEO with a look that's half lust-longing and half unadulterated rage, no points for guessing at whom the latter half is directed.

" _Graaaamps,"_ Zenos drawls, and the director of M&A snaps, 

"Not a word, not another bloody word out of you. Azem? Darling?" He sounds stiff, perhaps a little hysterical, as he holds a hand out to her. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Are you alright? It looks like-- you're injured!" He gasps, and now he looks positively _murderous,_ glaring at Zenos like it's all his fault, which, obviously, it isn't. This was mutual, consensual ultraviolence, thank you very fucking much.

Anyway, gramps then seems to really register the fact that she isn't wearing jack or shit but the towel and he _freaks,_ yanking her to him, slamming the door and barking into his phone, "I want that security footage, now!', snapping his fingers. By the time Zenos gets the sauna door open again, they're both gone, just like that.

So _that_ happened.


	12. Chapter 12

Azem is pretty sure Emet was about to drag her out of the gym in nothing but the towel if she hadn't yelled that she needed clothes at him. Thankfully, that seemed to snap him out of it enough that she was able to scurry to the changing room and put her dress back on. When she snuck out the non-gym exit, she didn't _see_ him waiting on her, so she's pretty sure she's in the clear, for now.

That said, now she's _exhausted_ , walking along rubbing the juncture of her neck and shoulder and tonguing at the split on the inside of her bottom lip. Fucking _hells_ but she's sore.  
"And you look it, too."

Did she say that out loud? Dazedly, she looks up, only to realize she's two steps from literally running into Nabriales. Whoops.

"Come on. I know just the thing that'll help."  
And although she's questioning her sanity for going with him, she does follow, half expecting him to have a sex dungeon squirreled away somewhere like Lahabrea's Machine.

Instead, he walks them to a dimly lit room with spa music going and a few reclining chairs with screens.  
"Chairs," she says, flatly. Nabriales shoos her into one, correcting, 

"Massage chairs. You'll see. Also, stupid question, maybe, but when's the last time you _ate_ anything today?"

"I...had lunch with Emet," she says slowly, and Nabriales does a double-take.

"Fucking hells, woman, that was _ten hours ago._ Sit. Stay. I'll be back."

She pokes around on the main menu for a bit, fiddling with the settings, seeing that she can turn the 'parts of the body' to different locations, intensities, and that there's an option to stare at a tropical sunset screensaver, watching the artificial ocean roll in and out as she reclines, letting the machine do its thing. It's some kind of aqua technology, according to the label on the corner, so it's like the...ocean...is massaging...her?

It's weird, definitely, but it's alright, and she lets her mind go blank until Nabriales returns to drop a soda and a bag of chips and a cookie into her lap. Ah. Vending machine fare.   
"Thanks."  
"Don't mention it. Really, don't. I'm not _all_ bad."

As she tears into the chips, Nabriales flops into the chair beside her, and after a few moments of fiddling with the controls, slumps back with a low, masculine groan and quiet curse that sounds...pornographic, honestly.

His soft vocalizations sound like _sex,_ good sex, and her mind is inexorably dragged back to that sex dream she had starring him, of how he begged beneath her, of how she wants to hear him beg again-- wait. What? No. She doesn't...she's not sure why she just thought that.

"Oh, come on, it's not _that_ good," she huffs from her chair, and he takes a break from his blissed-out moaning to give her very specific instructions on what to change the settings to.  
"Trust me. It's worth it."  
More than a little skeptical, she adjusts hers, and then...

"Oh!"  
"See?"

"Ohhhhhhh...oh, _fuck_."  
"I know, right?"

It's a rolling pulse, sweeping through her, up along her legs, down from her shoulders, and when the pulses meet in the middle, at the juncture of her thighs, there is only bliss, rich and carnal, throbbing and teasing and making her squirm, and without even realising it, she has shifted a little, legs spreading slightly, and gods, but that's something. 

It isn't enough, not unless she touches herself, too, and she isn't quite to that level of debauchery, even if Nabriales probably is, but it's good. It's really good. It's also actually beating up her sore muscles in a forced-release kind of way, and her head lolls to the side.  
"Hey, Nabriales?"  
"Mm?"  
"Why do they call you 'Majestic'?"  
He sits up, legs spread in that utterly male way that just draws the eye to the line of his slacks, to how his suit pants are tented, and she drags her gaze back up to his face with a will, only to find him smirking at her, knowing and sure.  
"I could show you," he tells her, "but per my very specific instructions from Elidibus, you have to opt-in. It's a consent thing."  
He rolls his eyes.

"So, do you?"

"You'll stay over there?"  
"If you like."  
"Then..." She's pretty positive she knows exactly where this is going, and she shouldn't be encouraging it. But she's tired, and she's horny, and a little loopy from the day, so what she says instead is, "okay."  
As she expected (and maybe hoped, a little bit?), he goes for his belt, the clink of the buckle loud in the silence of the room, the noise of the zipper equally explicit, even before she realizes he's going commando. And then it's out, and...shit, it _is_ majestic. Thick and hard and flushed and decorated, pierced and adorned with a ladder of barbells that she imagines would feel fucking _amazing_ inside...  
"NABRIALES, A WORD!"

Ah. Emet found them. That's probably her cue to go the fuck home, honestly. The trains may not be running this late, but if she has to, she can walk. Or maybe she can crash in one of the nap pods for a few hours and catch an early morning train home. She'll figure something out.

As she beats a hasty retreat from the spa room, she blocks her ears. Can't report anyone for violence on company property if you aren't witness to it, after all. See? She's getting the hang of this, already.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yakety Sax.

"Ah, Emet. You have a little blood on your tie. Just there."

"Elidibus. Where's Azem?"

"I...I'm not sure, actually. Let me check the security footage."

"Already did. It looks like she left the building, alone, unaccompanied, unescorted, and hasn't returned."

"Well, that's just absurd. Where would she be going at this hour?"

"Home?"

"Nonsense, you know I already moved her into your building as per your specific request, along with all her things."

"But does SHE know that?"

"...SHIT."

* * *

"Hey, Fray?"

A grunt from her dark companion.

"All my stuff is gone."  
"Told you, you should've let me handle things today."  
"I let you deal with that mugger on the train!"

"Weak. Pathetic pants-pisser. This world has no _challenge."_

"I know. You've said. Repeatedly. But if I'd let you be in charge today, you would've hooked yourself up to that coffee machine via IV drip, flipped a desk at Elidibus, and punched Nabriales repeatedly in the dick."  
"Still not seeing a problem here."  
"I'll ask Myste to let us have another go with Zephirin, alright? You can watch me tear his throat out with my teeth again, that should cheer you up."  
"Ah. Good times."

They both fondly reflect upon blood-soaked memories for a moment, sighing in unison.

"So. Someone stole absolutely everything out of my apartment."

"Sure did."

"Fuck. Now what?"

Fray looks at her with pity, insofar as he is capable of such.

"We walk back, don't we? Dammit."  
"Can we at least go the fun way?"  
She considers, squinting up at the parkour possibilities.  
"Oh, alright, but if one of the roofs caves in and I land in someone's living room again, you're doing the talking."  
"Gladly."

"And no disappearing when we're done, you have to use doors! Don't forget, we're still paying off medical bills from the heart attack we gave Mrs. Vardibedian the last time you left 'your' way."

A grunt of acknowledgment, and they're off.

* * *

"Dear gods, she _lived_ here? The place should be demolished! The ground it stood on salted and burned!"

"She isn't rich, Emet. This is probably all she could afford, sad as that is."

"I have closets larger than--oh, yes, that reminds me. She most assuredly isn't poor. Hsa the woman even looked at her benefits package? Have me send her the information for my wealth management advisor, she's very good."

"You don't mean-"

"My Rowena, yes. Well? Where is she? I don't see her."  
"She's not here."  
The noise the Director of M&A makes indicates to Elidibus several things in short order.

One, the poor sods in M&A should be warned that heads are going to roll when he shows up in the morning with a tray of that sludge he drinks in lieu of normal coffee and starts shattering cups left and right.

Two, Nabriales should make himself extremely scarce, lest additional bodily harm be visited upon him...and his piercings.

Three, his colleague is seconds away from involving law enforcement to track down their wayward CEO.

And four, if Elidibus were anyone else, _his_ head would be the one rolling.

He gulps.

"Well? Get in. It smells out here. Like misery and marijuana."

"That's going to pose a small problem."  
"What? Why? We've no time to waste?"

"Someone appears to have stolen the rims off your car while we were searching the building."

Several blood vessels appear to burst in Emet-Selch's eyes, giving him a demonic cast.

Right.

He'll start making the calls.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just normal company things.

These fucking idiots.

How they ever got anything done before she got here, she'll never know.

Well, that isn't quite true.

She knows how. And his name is Solus Galvus, aka Emet-Selch, aka Director of M&A, aka royal pain in her ass.

Now admittedly, he's assured her several times that it was Elidibus's fault for not telling her they'd moved her things to the high-rise tower near the office, and that he can vouch for the building's quality, since he lives there himself--on the same floor, even. And he's been more than gracious about inviting her over to peek at his apartment (though that thing he does with the door every time is _weird,_ and she still can't quite understand how he turned all his windows into floor-to-ceiling aquarium views; like, are there giant fish tanks hanging out 100 stories up or _what?_ Even the lighting looks kinda underwater-y at his place. It's super sus), and she, in turn, has invited him (and the rest of the Ascian Board) over to dinner at hers.

And yes, dinner was a bit of a trial, the conversation going something like this:  
"Oh, is it that thing where we eat sushi off your naked body? Because I did that with the CEO of Yanxia Inc., before we crushed them underfoot."  
"Damn it, no! I just made a lasagna! You are all impossible!"

Nabriales had begun chanting, "body shots! Body shots!"

"I'm not _food,"_ she had protested, and he had shot back with,

"Debatable."  
"I'm afraid I don't understand," Elidibus had said with furrowed brow. "We have chefs, you know. You really don't have to go to all this trouble."

"No, I wanted to, as...like...a gesture of friendship?"

Several blank and confused faces had greeted that pronouncement, though they did all agree that the lasagna was very good.

Well, Elidibus wasn't quite sure how to quantify 'good' as a subjective opinion, which was when she discovered that he had no preferences. About anything. And made it her mission to force some into him, mostly by bringing things by his desk and asking "this one or that one?" This was how they learned he liked red better than blue, savory better than sweet, night better than morning. Baby steps. Multiple-choice questions were still right out.

Anyway, back to the problematically hot widower.

"So, do you remember that merger we did with Eulmore LTD?"

"No, Emet, I wasn't here for that."

"Ah, that's right, you were vacationing in the Alps, weren't you? I'll refresh your memory."

"Is that the cover story we're going with now?"  
"And then there was that terribly messy business with Shard XIII, you remember _that._ I had that wrapped up and completely ready to go, and then I had to call out sick, remember? Awful flu that went around that year. I still haven't quite forgiven you for assigning Lahabrea to finish that deal up, but you certainly learned your lesson after it all went tits-up, didn't you."  
"I- yes?"  
"That's what I thought. Naturally, you were on a business trip to Siberia of all places when I recovered and returned to the office, so I decided to take the liberty of forcefully demoting Lahabrea for you. You can thank me for _that_ later. Perhaps at dinner?"

"What, exactly, does 'forceful demotion' entail, Emet?"

"Well, if you come to happy hour, you'll likely witness Nabriales attempt to demonstrate on that lovely intern he's taken such a shining to."

"Ah, yes, the 'Naughty' paddle," Nabriales comments, popping up from nowhere as he so often does. "He couldn't sit down for _days,_ I tell you. Days."

"That is _not_ how we discipline people in the workplace!" Azem exclaims. "You can't use BDSM as a punishment for poor performance!"  
"Well. Not with _that_ attitude, you can't," Nabriales agrees. "Really, Emet, you've _got_ to loosen her up a little before team building day or we're going to have no fun at _all."_

The Director of M&A shoots Nabriales A Look, and the other man winces and puts his hands over his groin protectively before backing away.  
"Threatening your coworkers really isn't the done thing, either," she points out. His rebuttal is swift and sharp.  
"I have to deal with him before my morning coffee, some days. _Before_ my _morning coffee_. Cut me some slack, won't you?"

* * *

She has learned from truly unfortunate personal experience that Emet is an absolute _bear_ in the mornings before he has his coffee. And not just any coffee, or even Lahabrea's coffee. Oh, no. He has a dedicated coffee pot in his department that _only_ that department drinks from. And yes, she _has_ tried to drink from it, thus the 'truly unfortunate personal experience'. 

"Why," she had said, "is it making that disturbing _splorch_ sound? And why does it look like sludge?"  
An employee of Mergers and Acquisitions had wordlessly handed her a titanium-reinforced spoon.  
"How would you even stir this"  
"It's not for stirring. It's for getting it _out."_

_"_ I feel like it's looking at me."

"Yeah, it does that sometimes."

A tentative sip (scoop?) had revealed it to be disgusting. Nigh-inedible, really, but exceedingly caffeinated. Watching all the employees of that department casually knocking it back was disturbing, but one stopped working long enough to give her advice:

"If you drink it fast enough, it doesn't hit your tongue as much. Just...try to deep-throat it, if you can. 's better that way."

"We've considered an iv drip, but it gets in the way of typing," another poor soul volunteered. "Dave over there--"  
They pointed to a man doing lines of a powdery white substance off his desk.  
"Is that _cocaine?"_  
"Nah, pure powdered caffeine."

She later discovered there is a long-standing feud in the company over the purpose of coffee: taste vs function, and that Lahabrea and Emet-Selch spearhead the respective factions, vociferous in their defense.

The sides declare war and play pranks on each other, or at least, that's what she _hopes_ the defacement of the new Hydaelyn statue represents. ("It's a stupid statue anyway. Never should have been commissioned," Emet says, when she asks him about who might have drawn a dick on it.)

Their mediator, the guy who stopped by with the welcome cookie basket and a standing invitation to happy hour and karaoke night, is pretty nice, and the baked goods are delicious, even if he _does_ have a weird habit of going "ufufufu" when he laughs. Also, he's ridiculously tall. And she's not super clear on if he works here or _what,_ but he seems to be good friends with several of the executives, and she's learned not to question things (out loud) as much after trying and failing to look into Zenos' role in the company--namely, who's paying him, who he reports to, why he keeps calling Emet 'gramps' and insisting to everyone who will hear, loudly, that he's besties with the new CEO and they _spar_ together.

There are lots of mysteries here, honestly, executives arguing over "you _knew_ Atlantis was my favorite" and "this is revenge for Egypt, you motherfucker" or the fact that their privately owned vacation destination is in the Bermuda Triangle, the least among them.

More importantly, and perhaps more pertinently, since it's coming up soon, is:

What the actual _fuck_ is going on with Team Building Day?


	15. Team Building Day

She should have seen this coming.

Really, she should have.

Part of her probably did, if she's being honest with herself.

But it's still...a _lot._ To take in.

"This is a lawsuit waiting to happen," she announces to no one in particular, only to be contradicted by Elidibus.

"It really isn't. We've all signed the NDAs. Everyone's physicals came back clean. _And_ it's the only activity everyone could agree on."

"But this is just...this has _nothing_ to do with the company! It's just a giant orgy!"

Solus slips in beside her, murmuring low in her ear and pulling her into a corner with a hand on her arm.

"Actually, it isn't. Observe. It's company policy to work on projects in teams when possible. Always has been. Productivity increases and employees feel less isolated. More supported."

He gestures subtly toward the intertwined figures of Lahabrea and Igeyorhm.

"They were a team, prior to his demotion. And on team building days, they can continue to be a team."

He points toward Altima and Emmerololth this time.

"Also a team. You'll notice that, initially, at least, the teams are the ones who tend to pair off."

The quick and obvious math prompts her to speak in contradiction.

"But there are only thirteen of you on the Ascian Board. Wouldn't that mean that someone--ah. Have you always worked alone?"

"Our number wasn't thirteen. Not at first," he counters, looking pained. And despite the sexual chaos surrounding them on all sides, it's to Solus that she's drawn with unerring focus. All is their conversation. All else falls away.

"The first Azem," she breathes, sure, suddenly, that she's right. And he nods, solemn as the grave.

"Yes. Long ago. When the position was--" there's a tight pause before he lets the word fall from his tongue. "-- _vacated,_ team dynamics...changed. Adapted, around the loss. Some, certainly, more than others."

"Bit of an understatement, considering more than half the office doesn't remember _having_ a CEO."

"They never met her. It was truly only Elidibus, Lahabrea and myself who felt the full...extent of the loss. Suffice it to say, afterward, change came for us. And I have been-- _worked--_ alone."

She takes that in for a moment, their silence punctuated only by the buzz of a Sybian and muffled moaning. A ridiculous backdrop for such a serious conversation, but then, what _hasn't_ been absurd since she took this job?

"I'm sorry for your loss. It's clear that you still miss her. Asking if I could do anything seems...inadequate. Almost insulting, really." Her memory is clearly precious to the man, and it's obvious why he hasn't partaken in the, ah, festivities of team building day. He's in mourning.

"Nothing you do could possibly be an insult," Solus says gently. "And I do not believe she was ever _truly_ gone. She simply...hadn't yet found her way home."

He's looking at her steadily, intently, and she hears herself blurt out,

"You don't have to be alone anymore."

Oh, gods. Fix this!

"I mean, since the position is filled, again. As a team. Not a 'team'. I mean. Uh. Unless you want to be.Haha."

She trails off into an utterly mortified silence.

His voice is soft when he poses the question.

"Would you want to be alone?"

"No. No, I really wouldn't."

She's _been_ alone for too long already. This trainwreck of a company and these utterly unprofessional executives...she wouldn't give them up now, and go back to that.

"Do you want to be alone now?"

She laughs, but there's little humor in it.

"Not if there's an alternative option."

Slowly, so slowly, like he's desperately trying not to spook her, Solus reaches up to gently trail his gloved knuckles down her cheek.

"And if I was the alternative?"

"I should be so lucky," she mutters, because he has to be teasing her. He's still grieving the loss of his wife. He can't mean--

Her breath catches in her throat at the _look_ he gives her, somehow hopeful and poignant at once, and then...

Then he is kissing her.

Kissing her, and enfolding her body with his, embracing her like it's the end of the world, and the feel of him, the taste of him, is so achingly familiar that she feels the truth in her bones, in her blood, in her soul, that she is his and he is hers and it doesn't matter how, it simply _is,_ and she needs to be closer, _closer,_ urging him on until they collapse to the floor in a tangle of limbs, still kissing.

"I'm done waiting," he growls, and then, _oh,_ he's removing his gloves with his teeth and his clever fingers are everywhere, disrobing them only enough to touch, to taste, and she forgets entirely that they probably have an audience as he rolls them over, caging her in, and joins them irrevocably, surging inside her like the sea, and with every moment it comes back to her.

"My husband. My partner. My Hades."

He snarls his triumph against her skin, marking her inside and out, and she laughs through her tears at the scattered applause and cheering that rings out through the room.

When they've recovered, he kisses her forehead and offers to let her watch as he heads for Lahabrea for 'behavioral correction', but she shakes her head. She has her own idea for that.

Nabriales, arms bound behind him, thighs attached to a spreader bar that leaves him open, chest pushed out and decorated erection proudly bobbing in the air, sees her coming and moans, "sit on me".

She just laughs, and lowers herself toward his face.

"Work for it."

And he does, until she finally relents and sinks onto him, causing him to produce a string of profanities and exhortations and begging to turn the air blue.

"Nabriales?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

"Can do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not thrilled with it, but here it is.


	16. Disciplinary Measures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A vision of the past.

"It brings me no pleasure to do this," Emet tells him, tapping the riding crop against his palm rhythmically. "Still, our disciplinary guidelines are clear."  
Lahabrea, bent over the spanking bench, muffles a sigh.  
"Just get it over with."

"As you wish. Elidibus, read him the script."

There's a whistling sound, and then the _crack_ of the crop coming down upon bare buttocks.

"You have erred."

_Whoosh-crack._

It snaps across Laahbrea's upper thighs, painting them in a red blush.

"In accordance with our bylaws, you will now be punished accordingly."

A gloved hand comes down onto his flesh with a hard spank.

"Emet!"

"Sorry, I was getting bored."

Begrudgingly, he returns to the crop.

"Can I at least make patterns on him?"

"NO!"

"Oh, very well. Do what you must."

_Whacka-whacka-whack,_ goes the crop.

"Do you accept your demotion and offer us this, your penance, freely and with your own will?"

"I do." A bitten-off reply.

"Ah, but we haven't told you what the penance is, yet. Emet, if you please?"

The head of M&A pauses for dramatic effect.

"We go until you cry."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone at the bookclub who provided inspiration.
> 
> Friendly enablers here: https://discord.gg/9wnAcvf


End file.
